And Maybe Life's A Bit Deranged
by Jet Black Feeling
Summary: If maybe, against all odds, Harry could ask for something back, and have it returned to him, what would it be? Post HPB.


However many times he told himself that this whole situation was impossible, that he had gone mad, and that any second now he would step through the door -probably wielding lemon drops, the barmy old coot- Harry knew that it wasn't going to happen. He had seen it with his own eyes. Why did he have to witness all the deaths? (Not that he would wish it on anyone, but that was beside the point) It always seemed that every time someone important to him dropped ungracefully from his life he just had to be there to witness their downfall.

He was still slightly in shock. He had only been away from Hogwarts for a few weeks, hardly time to recuperate even under normal circumstances. But with Dudley, the blundering bully, spending every moment he had to torment him, he hadn't had time to breathe, much less grieve. Dudley knew Harry's birthday was coming up soon, and was making sure to use the time wisely until Harry was finally able to use his wand legally outside of school to make Harry's life near living hell. Harry had almost exploded numerous times; after coming from a day out to find his room trashed, and the contents his trunk strewn all over the floor, letters torn, and the contents of the bottom of Hedwig's cage spread on his bed. Other times the other boy simply attempted to make verbal jabs, though they weren't very effective, merely very annoying.

His Aunt and Uncle consistently ignored him. This might seem to be a blessing, but they also ignored any time he spoke to them for any reason at all. If he inquired about food, they continued to talk as though he wasn't there at all. Of course, he hadn't been asking about food much at all, really. Food had simply gone to almost the bottom of his list of priorities. But when hunger did hit, it hit hard. Dudley had become an almost permanent attachment to the kitchen, so that was out, unless he wanted taunts about "sticking fingers down your throat" and a fist in his gut. He certainly couldn't deal with that on an empty stomach.

So he did the next best thing. He managed to drag himself down to Mrs. Figg's house. It still smelled of cabbages, and the cats were more than a little disconcerting, but he had to stay at Privet Drive, at least until his birthday, and she had more than proven herself as a friend the summer before his fifth year. She also seemed keen on making him feel right at home. Even if the house still smelled the same, she no longer made him look through albums and albums of cat pictures. She sat him down each time, offering him cups of tea and plates of surprisingly good scones. It was hardly anything like all of those June twenty-thirds(of course, Dudley's birthday) of years past. Then he had been miserable. Now, he was miserable too, but for an entirely different reason and in an entirely different way. He had plenty of time to think on the different problems he had. He had all summer. If only he could train. But he couldn't. Of course, he still had to stay at the Dursley's, because of some fecking blood wards.

How in hell was he going to be able to defeat Voldemort with Dumbledore gone? He had a horrible sense of foreboding about the upcoming year. He had vowed not to go back to Hogwarts, but after thinking on it for a while, he could tell that he didn't have the right training to go running off to save the world. As much as Dumbledore had trusted him, and as wise as he was, the last year had proven that he was certainly not infallible. Trust Snape, indeed.

* * *

Black hair peeked out from under the yellowing threadbare blanket. There was a muffled groan as the boy underneath rolled over towards the wall, and a foot covered in a thick woolen sock hung over the side of the bed. Harry had been up until four, suffering from acute insomnia and waiting on a reply to a letter he had sent to Hermione a week ago. It hadn't came. Merlin only knew why not. There hadn't really been all that much in the letter itself, only asking her if the Order had heard any news on the whereabouts of Snape or Malfoy. Maybe he'd been a bit too straightforward about that, but at the moment he was too exhausted to care. The door to his bedroom squeaked noisily open, but he paid no mind, merely attributing the noise to his sleep-fogged brain. A moment later, there was about two hundred more pounds than there should have been on his side. "Get up, you lazy freak! It's noon, and if I can't sleep in, neither can you." Harry gasped, which wasn't the wisest choice he could have made, as he couldn't breathe, and this resulted in a strange kind of half strangled choking, half cough sound. His eyes snapped open, and he pushed as hard as he could at the bulk of a boy sitting on him. Dudley was still the brick wall he had morphed into sometime during Harry's fourth year, and therefore was actually quite difficult to move. "Ger'off me!" Harry choked out.

When would Dudley learn not to mess with him? Could the fat pig not see what was going on? He had to get away from here. After a twelve minute one-sided fight with Dudley's backside, Harry finally managed to push him off. He sat up, glaring indignantly at the boy on the ground, who, at the moment, was looking quite fuzzy. "What was that for?" the blonde whined.

"I really didn't know you wanted me that much, Dudley. You should have just said something - that was revolting. Now get out of my room."

Dudley looked rather like Ron had after trying to cast the slugs hex on Malfoy. He scrambled to his feet and dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry merely rolled his eyes and got out of bed. His striped pajama bottoms, still the same ones he'd had since he was eleven, were about mid-calf length. They may have been too short, but they were comfortable and fit him fine everywhere else. It was too ironic that his waist was only as big as ten year old Dudley's by the time he reached sixteen. He groped blindly for his glasses on the night stand, knocking off an unopened Chocolate frog package (probably about a year old, by the look of it), his wand, and a worn copy of Quidditch Through the Ages in the process. He slipped the black glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and knelt down by his trunk.

Later that day, after the 'ritual' tea with Mrs. Figg, Harry had walked down towards the play park. There had recently been a neighborhood-wide clean up, so it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before. All the swings were fixed, and the slide was as shiny as a sickle. He sat on the roundabout, staring off into space. Suddenly, he heard what sounded like a goose honking. But geese didn't normally visit Surrey… Harry looked to the left, toward the sidewalk. There were two girls standing there, looking rather bored. One looked to be about twelve, though that may have something to do with the fact that she looked somewhat like a pixie. She had brown hair about as messy as his, and was wearing a red and yellow scarf and tie. This baffled Harry. Who in their right mind would wear a scarf in the middle of the bloody summer? The other looked about fifteen. She was wearing a long, paisley skirt and a red tank top. Her hair reminded him quite a bit of Hermione's. The smaller girl shrieked. "Oh my gah! It's Harry Potter!"

She said this in a distinctly American accent. The other just shook her head, slightly apologetically, and patted the girl on the head. Then she grabbed the pixie-girl by the arm, and had to practically drag her away. "It is! I'm not lying!" The taller one pushed the other girl onto a garish orange tour bus, and called out. "Sorry about her, she's a bit strange. We know you're not a fictional character."

She then stepped onto the bus on her own, and the door shut behind her. It was more than slightly bizarre. Harry stood, and slowly walked away, trying not to catch any more attention. _What was wrong with them, anyways? Fictional character? I am not! _They seemed like muggles, actually, now that he thought about it._ How would they know my name? Ah, well, it doesn't matter much anyways._

Hands in his pockets and shoes scuffing the pavement, Harry made his way back towards Number 4 Privet Drive. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of going back at the moment, what with Dudley and his homophobic tendencies, but those hours of staying up the night before had finally caught up with him. He snuck in the front door, and up the stairs, before coming face to face with Dudley in front of his bedroom door. Dudley had a sneaky look about him, as if he had been snooping. It was all too obvious.

"What did you take this time, Dudley?" he asked, rather boredly.

"Nothing of yours." Dudley replied, his hands fumbling behind his back. He slipped something rather large and rectangular into his back pocket.

"Right." Harry said, pushing past him and into his room. Whatever it was his cousin had stolen, he would be able to get it back the next day. Tomorrow was Saturday, the day Dudley had his boxing matches, and he would be out of the house all day. Harry saw the bed, but he wasn't sure he was even still awake when he hit the mattress.

* * *

**A/N: So... What did you think? This is my first fanfiction, so I'm a bit giddy and hyper about it. No, this fic won't involve original characters, but I had a request from someone to include them in this chapter. It's just a cameo, so no worries. Please review, or send me a message. It's the only way I'll know what to improve with my writing, and I would like to know what you all think. Yes... that's about it. Have a great day(or night).**


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